


Potente Fantasy

by snarkyscorp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Double Penetration, Drug Addiction, Dubious Consent, Implied Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-01
Updated: 2010-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkyscorp/pseuds/snarkyscorp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is nothing Harry wouldn't do to get Al out of trouble…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Potente Fantasy

When Albus says he needs help, Harry is quick to be at his side. There is nothing Harry wouldn't do to get Al out of trouble, and though Albus is always testing Harry's patience with the depths at which he can sink himself, Harry has never wavered in his love and protection for his son. James and Lily would get equal attention, if they asked—but Albus is always asking, and Harry is always running after him.

Tonight, Harry hopes it is not another something so dangerous that he will have to use his clout at the Ministry to finagle papers and names and dates. Once, he Obliviated someone for Al. He vowed he would never do it again; tonight he prays he won't need to break that oath.

The seedy Muggle motel Albus owled from is disgusting, the kind of thing Harry would like to clean up if he had the power to do so. The hourly rate blinking boldly at the roof sings of disease and death. Harry wonders how the Muggle authorities ignore this kind of shite, aches to owl the Minister and see about providing a few protective spells at the very least, just to help…

But Harry is not here to help Muggles. He is here to help Albus. He reminds himself of Albus' _just-like-mine_ eyes, his _just-like-mine_ hair, and his _just-like-mine_ attraction to trouble. But unlike Harry, Albus goes looking for danger, beckons it and laughs and laughs and laughs when Harry always shows up to rescue him.

In the dingy, dimly-lit room, Harry finds Albus waiting.

"Are you all right?" Harry asks, wand drawn.

"Perfectly fine," Albus slurs.

Harry is about to repeat his question, but upon closer inspection, Harry sees the blown-wide pupils in Albus' green eyes, the rims of red around them, the slack of his jaw, the sway of his body.

"You're high," Harry says dully.

Albus snorts, leans forward and wraps his arms around Harry's neck. He buries his face into Harry's neck, nuzzles him, and laughs.

Harry can feel his face getting very, very hot. Albus is starting to cling, to mouth at his skin, to push him up against the wall, and Harry is starting to let him. Harry is just thankful he won't have to Obliviate anybody, so he lowers his wand and wraps his arms around his son like the wind might carry him away.

"Shh, it's all right, Al," Harry says, his voice sure and steady. Yes, it will be all right. Whatever comes, Harry will be there.

Harry is too absorbed in holding Albus close to realize he is being disarmed. Before he even senses the sizzle of magic, there is a shout of _Expelliarmus!_ and his wand goes flying. With a stumble, Harry tries to rush after it, but another spell pins him to the wall.

"Hello, Potter."

The drawl would be enough of a give away, but the pointed, pale face that invades his line of sight is so jarring in its malice and familiarity. There is no one else who looks, smells, or breathes like Draco Malfoy.

"Don't hurt him," Al says. Without Harry's arms around him, his slender body tilts this way and that.

"I don't intend to."

"You realize that you are not only in violation of drug possession but also of attacking an Auror," Harry growls, straining against the magical bonds and itching to centre his wand right between Malfoy's beedy eyes. "You could go to Azkaban for this shite."

"Undress," Draco says, but he is not talking to Harry—he's talking to Albus.

Harry's mouth goes dry as Albus obeys, slides right out of his denims and jumper, pale skin sheaned with sweat and shaking in the cold.

"On your knees."

Again, Albus obeys, and Harry's entire body stiffens as he watches his own son kneel before him.

"Remember what you told me, Potter?" Draco asks, standing close to Harry's side, watching. "Just an hour ago, before the drugs?" Albus nods; Harry can't move. "Tell him."

Albus looks up, and green eyes meet their match. "I want my dad to fuck me."

"Albus…" Harry tries very hard not to growl. Al is still his son, still in trouble, still in need of saving.

"And I want you to fuck me too," Albus continues, glancing back at Draco. "At the same time. Both your dicks, shoved up inside me as deep as you can go, in and out, nice and rough."

Harry feels like somebody just hit him with an Unforgivable. Just like that, all the wind knocks out of his lungs. His head spins like a top. Albus is high. Or drunk. Or both. Or under some spell to make him say these things, but this isn't Al, not really, not his son.

"Well then, let's get to it," Draco purrs. With a wave of his wand, he sends Harry's body flying from the wall to the bed, where he lands with a thud and finds it just as impossible to struggle free.

Face-up, he sees only the ceiling as Albus crawls over him, pushes his robes up his thighs, bunches the fabric at his waist. Harry is sweating now, genuinely terrified of what is about to happen. He whispers to Albus, tells him to stop it, but Albus just laughs.

"Oh, please," Albus hums. "You've been wanting this since forever."

" _Albus._ " Harry's voice has taken on that dangerous tone now. His eyes focus on his son, whose hands have stilled on his naked hips. "You're my _son_. How could you think—"

"Just lay back and let me have my fantasy!" Albus growls. He reaches for his wand, taps Harry's mouth, and suddenly Harry can't make any noise at all. "Much, much fucking better."

"Lower yourself on him," Draco commands, suddenly leaning and leering over Harry like a vulture.

But Harry has no time to concentrate on Draco because Albus is jerking him off in nice, slow, firm strokes, lubing his dick, and sliding onto him with a wince and a groan. Harry's eyes roll back. It shouldn't feel good, he shouldn't be so hard already, Draco shouldn't be sneering at him, Albus shouldn't be grunting and riding him like some bitch in heat. Albus is so hot, so tight, that Harry thinks surely this will be all he can take and they can go home and work through this. But then Draco's weight settles onto the bed, Draco's knees brush Harry's thighs, send a ricochet of sizzling heat straight to his balls, and Albus whines like a creature in the night.

Now Harry is itching for other things: to grip Al, to jerk his hard length, to throw Draco against the wall and rut him too. He growls, Albus grins down at him, waves his wand, releases the spell, and Harry bucks. His dick rubs against Draco's, and that friction alone could send him off the deep end, but he holds on well past the breaking point, dragging Albus down for a rough, searing, biting kiss that tastes and burns and sizzles like fresh-caught fire. Harry takes handfuls of Al's hair, bites his tongue, swallows him whole.

Harry's orgasm rips out of him with so much force that he bolts upright out of the hotel bed. Around him, there is silence and a small, empty bottle of _Potente Fantasy_ tipped over on the nightstand. He can still make out part of the label, which reads: _...all your most potente fantasies and dangerous desires come to life before your eyes._

Harry is sweating as he pulls his clothes on and spells away the mess. When he finally arrives home for dinner—"Late, again," Ginny reminds him—Albus is sitting at the kitchen table with the rest of the family. He looks up at Harry, smiles, and continues shoveling food into his mouth, unaware of how Harry watches him, what Harry wishes that mouth could do for him, the fantasies Harry spins almost every night now in the solace of that filthy motel room.


End file.
